


Force That Lies Within

by KelpietheThundergod



Series: testimōnium tuum est essentiālis (your testimony is essential) [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s11e12 Don't You Forget About Me, Implied Castiel/Dean Winchester, M/M, Season/Series 11, episode coda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 16:57:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6478426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelpietheThundergod/pseuds/KelpietheThundergod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Claire doesn't want to go inside. She takes one look at the hospital, the high walls and the sterile white lighting of the entrance area and leans back in her seat, “I'll wait in the car.” Dean tries to catch her eyes in the rearview mirror but she has her head turned away. He sighs, gets out of the car and then helps Jody out of the back. She sags against him, clutching at his jacket, clearly in pain but determined to argue with Claire, “You need to get patched up.” </p><p>Claire doesn't answer, stares determinedly out the other window and out into the parking lot. It's dark and there are only a few cars, even fewer people. The building at their back looms high. Sam comes around the car and Dean makes a split-second decision, jerks his head at him, “You take Jody, I'll stay here.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Force That Lies Within

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pirrofarfalla (singsilverlight)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=pirrofarfalla+%28singsilverlight%29), [androbeaurepaire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/androbeaurepaire/gifts).



 

 

 

 

_oh but love_

_love is weakness_

 

 

 

 

Claire doesn't want to go inside. She takes one look at the hospital, the high walls and the sterile white lighting of the entrance area and leans back in her seat, “I'll wait in the car.” Dean tries to catch her eyes in the rearview mirror but she has her head turned away.

He sighs, gets out of the car and then helps Jody out of the back. She sags against him, clutching at his jacket, clearly in pain but determined to argue with Claire, “You need to get patched up.” Claire doesn't answer, stares determinedly out the other window and out into the parking lot. It's dark and there are only a few cars, even fewer people. The building at their back looms high.

Sam comes around the car and Dean makes a split-second decision, jerks his head at him, “You take Jody, I'll stay here.” Sam looks confused for a moment, but then bends down to take Jody's weight. Alex wordlessly gets out of the car too and supports Jody on her other side. The girl doesn't seem to be injured but she's clearly in shock. Stayed quiet on the ride here except to utter a brittle thanks when Dean handed her a soda bottle he'd bought at a gas station on the way to Sioux Falls.

When he's sure the three of them can manage the short distance, Dean turns and leans down to look into the back, a hand braced on the roof of the car, “Hey, I'll be right back, okay?” Claire makes a noncommital noise and doesn't look at him. Dean rolls his eyes and straightens, taps against the roof once with the flat of his palm.

Inside, he thoroughly washes his hands with disinfectant, snags a handful of paper towels. When he comes back, Claire is still right where he left her. Dean digs their first aid supplies out of the trunk, and then gets in beside her in the backseat, slamming the door shut. He holds a water bottle, some Tylenol and a flashlight out to her, “Come on, I need a hand here.”

Claire rolls his eyes at him in annoyance, but takes the stuff out of his hands without protest. “I hate hospitals.”

Dean huffs out a breath, “You and me both. Now, c'mon, need some light or I might accidentally pour hydrogen peroxide into your ear.”

Claire shoots him an unamused look, but obediently swallows the painkillers and then clicks the flashlight on and holds it up, craning her neck to the side and hissing under her breath when the movement pulls at her wound. Her expression is something between calm and annoyed, but her jaw is clenched tightly and she hisses again when Dean starts carefully cleaning the wound on her neck. Dean clears his throat, “You know, I got bit in the neck couple weeks ago too. By a ghoulpire.”

Claire frowns. “By a _what_?”

“Ghoulpire. Half vamp, half ghoul.” Claire shoots him an annoyed look when he reaches for the band-aids, obviously thinking that Dean is making this up. Dean rolls his eyes at her, “They're called Nachzehrers, okay, but that's lame.”

Claire snorts, then hisses again when Dean starts cleaning the wounds on her face. After a moment, she asks, “How do you kill it?”

She makes it sound off-hand, disinterested, but Dean thinks he can hear the genuine interest behind it. He doesn't call Claire out on it, just continues calmly, “Silver slows it down but even cutting off the head won't kill it.” He continues his explanation while cleaning the rest of the cuts.

Claire only interrupts him when he makes to put a band-aid over the cut on her cheek as well – “I'm not five, Dean.” Dean frowns at her, or at least he means to, because whatever is on his face somehow makes Claire slump back against the seat in defeat, “Fine, okay, have it your way!”

Clearly someone needs a little first aid 101, and since no one else is around, Dean decides the responsibility falls to him. He rummages through their supplies, holds stuff up for Claire to see, “Sewing needle. You don't need sewing thread if you don't have it on you, dental floss works just as well.” Claire looks annoyed again, but she listens. She also looks pale and exhausted. Dean remembers the Hershey's chocolate bar he got for the kid earlier with the water, hands it over to her with a stern, “Eat. You'll feel better.”

Claire just looks at him for a moment but then takes it and rips it open, “You are such a nerd.”

Dean frowns at her in confusion but decides it wiser not to ask. They sit in almost companionable silence while Claire makes her way through the chocolate bar. She's obviously trying to conceal it but her fingers are shaking slightly.

She is one brave girl.

But there is the stuff Jody said, and it worries Dean. Obviously Sam already talked to her, and he is better with that shit than Dean is. But somehow, Dean finds himself clearing his throat and saying, “You know, I'm –”

Claire exhales on a sigh, sounds irritable when she interrupts him, “Could we skip the lecture, please?”

Dean scowls at her, affronted. “It's not a lecture. Do I look like a lecture kinda guy?”

Claire, still chewing on her chocolate, finally looks over at him and quirks an eyebrow.

Dean makes a grimace, “Ugh, fine. Forget it. Look, I was just –” He cuts himself off, exhales. Starts again, quieter. “Look. I'm not trying to tell you what to do, I'm not. Just, maybe it feels that way now, but hunting isn't all there is to life. You're a smart kid, you can do lots of things with your life.” Dean swallows, hesitates for a moment but then plows on, his gaze fixed on the back of the driver's seat in front of him. “And if you forget that, you're gonna stand over some fang's dead body one day and think that's all you're good for. So uh, don't forget it, okay?”

Dean clears his throat again and shifts in his seat, suddenly feeling awkward and nervous. This is why he doesn't do this shit. When he risks a glance at Claire, the girl is watching him with a blend of curiosity and confusion, until it's smoothed over again by carefully constructed nonchalance. “Whatever you say, tough guy.”

It's obviously bait, an attempt at a diversion, but Dean decides to take it. He throws her an offended look, “Hey, I'm plenty tough.”

Claire smirks and bites off more chocolate. “Sure, sure.”

>

Sam and Alex walk through the exit right when Dean is halfway through texting Sam for an update. He deletes what he had typed, opens the door and slides out of the backseat. Claire remains half-asleep with her head resting against the window.

“They're gonna keep Jody overnight for observation, but she's gonna be fine,” Sam says when he walks up to Dean. Alex walks past the both of them and gets into the backseat without a word. Dean looks after her, concerned, then raises his eyebrows at Sam in question. Sam sighs and shakes his head. Dean takes it to mean Jody wanted her and Claire to go home, and that Alex was not happy with the decision.

Dean rubs his forehead, is already walking towards the driver's side when he asks, “So, Jody's? Anyone got the keys?”

>

The ride back is thankfully short, because the silence isn't exactly a comfortable one. Dean would slot one of his tapes into the tape deck, but he doesn't wanna wake the dozing Claire, and while Alex sits still and silent in her seat, she looks ready to jump at any sudden noise, so Dean doesn't.

As soon as they've all stumbled through the door, Dean orders everyone – everyone kid sized – to bed. The looks he gets make clear that it's unnecessary, and Dean mostly knew it would be unnecessary, but somehow it _felt_ necessary. Just as it feels necessary to tell Claire “Don't forget to brush your teeth, you had chocolate!” with a stern expression. From the corners of his vision, he can see Sam raising his eyebrows at him and looking amused, while Claire just rolls his eyes at him and makes a disgusted sound.

As soon as the kids are upstairs, Dean lets himself fall onto the couch with a grunt, lays his head against the backrest and closes his eyes. “Hey, there's no beer in the fridge, is there?”

Sam snorts a laugh from somewhere to Dean's right, “We're staying here overnight, huh?” Dean opens his eyes for a moment to glare at Sam's mocking tone. Sam holds his hands up in mock defeat, but he's still smirking, the asshole. “Hey, I'm not objecting. Gimme the keys, I'll make a quick run.”

>

Dean shoos Sam off to the guest room and claims the couch for himself after changing out of his fed suit and back into normal clothes. He has long since mastered the art of being able to fall asleep anywhere, and if someone – or thing – tried to get in, Dean'd be awake and alert instantly. Sam is either too happy at the prospect of sleeping in a real bed – the bunker has clearly spoiled them, though Dean sure is fond of his memory foam – or too used to Dean's paranoia, for he goes without protest.

Dean sits on the couch in the dark for a while, sloshing the rest of his beer in the bottle, suddenly not feeling like finishing it. There's not a noise from upstairs, but for one, insane moment, Dean thinks he forgot to check if everyone shut off their lights. With a grimace at himself, he sets the beer down on the coffee table, stretches out over the couch with his jacket as a pillow and crosses his arms over his chest. He's neither drunk, nor does he have a concussion to blame this shit on. Dean must just – be tired. Long day and all.

Dean shifts to fish his phone out of his pocket, but then hesitates over the button that would power up the screen. He's been debating on and off if he should tell Cas about Claire's situation. But from his understanding, Cas and Claire seemed to be in somewhat regular contact. And if Claire hasn't reached out to Cas about how she's been feeling, it wouldn't feel right to Dean to do it behind her back.

Dean pushes the button, only to have it confirm what he already knew. He has zero new messages.

Dean lets the screen go dark, shoves the phone back into his pocket. Crosses his arms over his chest again.

There was something off about Cas the last time Dean saw him, but then again Cas had just been through a hell of a lot. Or maybe Dean is just projecting his own shit on other people and it's him that's off. Dean is the weak link in this screwed-up little family, the one that is once again dragging everyone down with him, if he wants to or not. What he wants matters jack squat when he comes near Amara, and maybe that's his punishment, but it _scares_ him. It's been scaring him so bad he can barely sleep.

So maybe it's just Dean. Maybe it's just Dean that Cas isn't texting or calling, and he's answering Claire's texts just fine. Cas said he liked texting, but Dean is far from great at it. And what would he even have to say? 'Almost got iced by a banshee, fun times!' or 'killed a couple fangs today, trying to get the blood outta my jacket, how was your day?' Not even doesn't-care-about-social-norms Cas would wanna get texts like that.

And Dean's of even less use with advice. Sure, he told Delilah back at that case with the killing people through WiFi ghost that facing her guilt would help her deal, but anyone could've told her that. And Dean was kinda trying to do the same thing at that time, trying to make up for his mistakes in the only way he knew how, and it backfired horribly. Mostly his approach is to get drunk and try and never think about shit ever again, because otherwise he'd just unload it onto other people, but unloading doesn't make stuff go away, so why burden them?

And yet he wouldn't tell Cas to do that, to do what Dean does.

He doesn't know what he would tell Cas.

Dean feels like he has barely seen Cas in ages. The ache of that is so familiar by now, Dean can almost tell himself he's used to it. Cas kept his distance while Dean had the mark, and given what happened when he didn't, that was probably for the best. Which is why Dean has been trying to forget that calculating edge to Cas' voice when he said “this could be a good thing” when Dean admitted, ashamed and unable to meet Cas' eyes, that he doesn't know what is stopping him from killing the Darkness.

Maybe that's just... maybe that's just the way things are now between them.

Dean shifts on the couch, tries to find a more comfortable position. It's kinda cold without covers but he's gonna have to deal. Belatedly, he realizes how tightly he's been crossing his arms over his chest and tries to relax them, to take deep breaths and make his brain shut up.

He stares at the ceiling. Watches light move over the walls when a car drives by. Then watches the unmoving shadows.

>

The void falls away, the dark enveloping him lifts, and then there's a horrible scratching noise in his ears, pain all down his right side.

Dean blinks open his eyes but his vision is swimming and everything is moving too fast. He drags in a painful breath, inhales dust, has to cough and fight for air.

He blinks again in a desperate attempt at clearing his vision. Flails a hand out and is met with sharp, cold, solid.

Gravel.

Someone has his left shoulder in a painful vice-like grip. Is using it to drag him over a gravel road.

He flails his hand out again, is briefly met with what feels like a fabric-clad leg. He cranes his neck and blinks upwards, sees a flash of trench-coat and sharp jaw-line.

“No,” he roughs out.

The fingers dig painfully into his upper arm. Dean scrambles with his legs but can't find purchase on the ground. The gravel is cutting through his clothes, burying into his flesh and tearing it open.

“Cas –”

Dean cranes his neck again, tries to see where Cas is dragging him. They're moving to a crossroads under a low leaden sky. And right in the middle of the road, a giant black hole swallowing up all the light and leading down, endlessly down. The dark is moving above it, stretching towards them. There's a wail and a whisper coming from far deep down below, and it's silent, but Dean can hear it in his head, can feel it tug cruelly and insistently at his core.

“No, don't –”

Gravel gets in his mouth and he coughs violently. He tries to reach for Cas, but his arm is trapped underneath the weight of his own body, weakened by the sharp unforgiving road he's being dragged across. Dust gets in his eyes and he blinks, feels tears streak over the dirt on his face.

Then there is Cas' voice. “Houses of the snakes, Dean. I can't kill her if she's only half, or she'll rise again. This needs to be done.”

Dean manages to wrap his hand around Cas' ankle – or the thing that looks like Cas. Forces the words past the spit or blood or stones in his mouth, “You're, you're not Cas.”

They come to a stop, and then Dean is yanked up by an unforgiving hand around his throat. Dean clutches desperately at the arm holding him aloft above the swirling blackness underneath him, but his grip is weak with pain and terror, his feet kicking at empty air.

“I am. And I am not. But it doesn't matter, because 'Cas' was weak in the past but _now_ , see, now he agrees with me.”

Dean stares into the blue eyes, the calm expression. Barely gets the words past the grip cutting off his air, “Agrees about what?!”

The thing with Cas' face smiles softly, a mock display of pity.

“That this is for the greater good, Dean. It's for the greater good.”

He lets Dean fall.

>

Dean surges up, gasping for air, the sensation of falling nestled like nausea in his guts, and scrambles for something solid to hold onto. His grasping hands find the backrest of the couch, but for a long moment it doesn't even register with him what it is, he just curls his hands around it and holds on tight, eyes scanning his dark surroundings while his heart beats away in panic.

Suddenly, the lights go on and he has to blink and shield his eyes with a groan.

“Hey, you okay?”

Dean inhales sharply and drags his hand away from his eyes. Claire is standing in the doorway in her pajamas, a glass of water in one hand and her phone in the other, a dubious expression on her face. Dean forces himself to take a deeper breath and to let go off the backrest. He sets his feet down on the floor and turns his body towards her, rubs a hand over his eyes and motions vaguely with the other. “Yeah, I'm, I'm good.” He sounds out of breath and brittle and pathetic even to his own ears.

Claire doesn't look very convinced either when he chances a glance up at her. “Sure, uh. You want some water?”

Dean hesitates for a moment but then nods, “Yeah, that'd be great actually.” He half expects her to make some smart-ass comment, but Claire just turns around and gets him a glass of water from the kitchen, and then walks over to hand it to him.

“Thanks.”

The cold water tastes slightly metallic but it feels soothing on his throat. The inside of his mouth tastes horrible however. Dean grimaces, sets the glass down on the coffee table. Claire quirks a brow at the half-empty beer bottle, but instead of getting back to her room she sits down beside him. Dean looks at her in surprise. Her bruises have darkened, and she looks tired, but more relaxed than earlier.

Dean leans his elbows on his knees, clears his throat. “Couldn't sleep?”

Claire shrugs. “Not really. I was thirsty. You?”

Her tone suggests she already knows the answer. Dean exhales a breath of weak laughter, “Yeah, not so much.”

“Hm.”

They sit a while in companionable silence. Claire sips her water, but she doesn't seem very enthusiastic for the way it tastes either. It's also cold, and Dean's hands are cold as well, and he just wants something comforting. It gives him an idea and he straightens, already feeling slightly better at the prospect of having something to occupy his hands with.

“You know what? C'mon, I have an idea.”

He gets off the couch and starts towards the kitchen. Claire is asking, “What? Where are you going?”, but then just follows after him.

Dean already has the light on in the kitchen, fishes a milk carton out of the fridge and tests if it's still good, then sets it down beside the stove and starts carefully rummaging through the cupboards.

He makes a triumphant noise when he finds his prize, turns around and holds it up for Claire to see with a wide grin.

Claire just kind of stares at him in disbelief. “You want to make hot chocolate at three AM? What are you, five?”

Dean snorts and turns towards the stove, selects a pot and then looks back at her before pouring the milk in, “That mean you don't want any?”

Claire opens her mouth but then seems to reconsider. Finally she rolls her eyes and motions for him to continue, “Fine, knock yourself out.”

Dean snickers smugly and flicks on the stove. Claire settles against the counter on the other side of it with an annoyed expression, but when she turns her head away Dean can briefly see her smile.

Claire watches him prepare the hot chocolate in silence. When Dean hands her one of the cups, she says, surprise evident in her voice, “You're very good at that.”

Dean can't help but smile, but then shrugs and tries to dodge the praise by joking, “I moonlight as a hot-chocolate chambermaid between hunts.”

Claire snorts out a breath of laughter, shaking her head, but she's cradling the cup carefully with both hands.

>

They move back to the couch, Claire tucking her feet in under her, probably because they were getting cold. The hot chocolate seems to warm her up though, and although Dean was mostly looking for a distraction by preparing it, he finds it's helping him too.

He can't even remember the last time he had hot chocolate.

When he closes his eyes, he still sees the swirling blackness, feels the sting of gravel against his skin. But sitting here with the light on and something warm in his hands helps. The fact that he isn't alone is helping too. They're not talking but it doesn't seem to matter. Somewhere, he and Claire seem to have reached some kind of understanding. Dean doesn't have a name for it, but that doesn't matter to him. Dean might not be the best company on any given day, but Claire is sitting here now when she could've chosen to be alone. That's a win in his book right there.

He startles when a warm weight drops against his left side. Claire has slumped to the side, her head on Dean's shoulder. Fast asleep.

For a moment, Dean sits frozen, at a loss at what to do. Then, he carefully leans back, rests his left arm on the backrest so Claire can rest more comfortably against him. He remember his jacket he had used as a pillow earlier, carefully drapes it over her shoulders. It seems to wake Claire slightly, because she mumbles, “Don' I have t' brush my teeth again?” It's barely audible but Dean is sure it's meant to make fun of him.

He shakes his head, answers quietly, “Nah, you're excused for tonight.”

Claire is already asleep again.

Her phone is also about to slip out of her grasp, so Dean carefully extracts it. The screen is dark and has finger smudges all over it. The ache starts in Dean's chest again and he sets the phone aside. Hesitantly lays his arm over Claire's shoulders instead of the backrest to keep her warm.

Dean watches the light and the unmoving shadows and waits for morning.

 


End file.
